Switch
by Crowded Angels
Summary: He just wanted a minute to himself, but she'd seen the RJ footage... Set somewhere after 2.01


As always, thanks to recoilandgrace x

* * *

Cal had enough time between meetings to review the footage on the Jordan case and dot a few I's in the never ending circle of paperwork that adorned his desk.

Even though it was only early afternoon, he was already exhausted and not in the mood for company. What he _was_ in the mood for was a double scotch, a darkened back room and maybe even a cigar.

He was most certainly _not_ in the mood for whatever Foster's high-and-pulled-together eyebrows were promising when he turned into his office.

"Lightman," she called as she watched him spin on his heel the second he saw her standing behind his desk, anger and determination shooting from blue eyes.

"Foster," he acknowledged, smacking the manila file between his hands as he passed Heidi's desk and took a right into the hall.

"Cal!" she followed him through the corridor, the clicking of her heels against the floor stopping as he turned into his carpeted library.

"Gillian!" he copied her tone with a mocking edge, walking through the farthest door into his office as she took the closest.

He didn't see her throw her arms in the air at the pointless circling of the building. "Oh, that's mature." She stood behind his desk again as he threw the file into the inbox and grabbed his remote, flicking on the wall-sized TV.

"I'm detecting sarcasm..." he gestured to her with the remote, his eyes focused on the video playing silently in front of him.

"Hey, _asshole_."

"Oh, that's mature."

"I've seen the video."

"What vid-" he glanced over to her and saw her typing something. "You _hacked _into my computer?"

"It wasn't that hard. 'Lyall'?" she stepped aside as he barged past her, tapping urgently on the keyboard.

He watched various windows pop up, chronicling her foray through his hard drive. "How do you even know what that means?"

"John Lyall. Considered to be the best manager of West Ham United after leading the team to score 20 goals in 4 games and securing the 1975 FA Cup Final against Fulham." Holding two fingers up, she continued, "Two-nil." She smirked at the slow turn of his head, the slightly agape mouth and the undeniable conclusion of _oh he wants me right now._ "_Google_, Cal. 'Emily' would have been too obvious." He turned back to the computer screen, and the humor dissipated, "What you did to that girl-"

"We needed to talk to RJ."

"RJ can't talk!"

"We didn't know that then! We were at an impasse with the case, the police were on their way... I needed to do something!"

"You needed her to psychologically regress into the emotionally deprived and one dimensional alternative version of herself that she created as a means of escaping the childhood abuse by someone she trusted?"

"...yes! I don't know, is that what I did?"

"The damage you could have done, Cal..."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly a walk in the park for me either," he rolled his aching jaw.

"Cal-"

"We solved the case!" he grunted, exasperation in his voice. "She's not going away for murder and she's gonna get the proper help she needs from that friend of yours."

"Don't try to excuse it away as a means to an end, Cal. You brought that girl here and promised her she'd be safe, that no one could hurt her here and then...and then... _God_, Cal! She's been abused by every male figure in her life-"

"What do you want me to do, apologize? You don't think I saw her fear? You don't think I felt her pulse under my hands? I saw it all, Foster, and I'm going to continue to see it all every day of my life. I know what I did and God knows I wish I hadn't had to, but..."

Foster sighed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"_What_?"

"You scared me, okay? You scared her, obviously. I've just... I've never seen you like that before."

"Yeah, well, hopefully you never will again."

"Cal-"

He sat down and began typing away loudly, signifying the end of the conversation. "Excuse me while I change all my passwords again."

Her hands dropped to her side, accepting defeat. She turned towards the door but spun back again, pointing a finger, "Oh and delete that file."

"What file?"

"'FBI stuff'? I know that has nothing to do with the feds. I'm not stupid." She called over her shoulder, stalking out of the office to the tune of his sniggering.


End file.
